


Scandal at the Winter Palace

by inquisitorsmabari



Series: Inquisitor Amelie Trevelyan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Early Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Swearing, Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, long fic, not telling each other that they're in love because they're dumb, the Balcony scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:56:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitorsmabari/pseuds/inquisitorsmabari
Summary: Inquisitor Trevelyan is sent with her Inquisition to halt the planned assassination of the Empress, but this means attending a masquerade ball with some of the most powerful men and women in Thedas, something which her mother groomed her for long ago, but soon got forgotten during her many years in the Circle.She must end the machinations of those who wish to see Orlais fall, all whilst keeping up the facade of a woman enjoying the Grande Masquerade and, also, avoiding the gaze of the man she'd kissed on the battlements of Skyhold not too long ago.





	1. The Gaze of Orlais

The doors to the Winter Palace opened, revealing a scene which was overwhelming to the senses; a bizarre mixture of dazzling colours under a shining gold ceiling, accompanied by a cacophony of laughter, chatter, and music, and topped off with the smell of beautiful meats and exotic dishes being brought out to quench the guests’ taste buds. It was a shock to the senses, but it was awe inspiring.

“Everything here is so beautiful,” The Inquisitor found herself saying, almost subconsciously, as she took in the glory of the palace, the heart of the mighty Empire of Orlais, and the scene in which she was, somehow, meant to foil an assassination attempt. 

“Indeed, Inquisitor,” Josephine, who she had forgotten was standing next to her, said in a calm, but slightly anxious, voice. “Remember what I said to you outside?”

“Of course, Josephine,” She replied. “Although I do have some reservations.”

“Yes?”

“I mean, you know I trust you, and respect everything you do for me and the Inquisition,” She began, “But did we really have to wear these outfits?”

“Everyone must know that we are part of the Inquisition,” She replied, somewhat stern in her tone. 

“Yes I know but, did it really have to be this colour, I mean-”

“Yes?”

“It clashes with my hair Josephine!” 

“Oh don’t be silly!” She replied with a laugh. “Just try not to blush, otherwise you’ll end up looking a bit like a tomato.”

“Oh well, thanks for the advice, Josephine,”

“Maybe avoid contact with Cullen for the night then, come to think of it,”

“Wait what-” Already she’d broken the ‘no blushing’ rule and now, conscious of 

“Josephine!” A voice called from behind them who, when they turned around, turned out to be Leliana, who moved with such ferocity and determination that the crowds parted as she approached them, giving the illusion that she was powerful, and feared.

“Ah, Leliana,” Josephine responded at her approach, as calm and collected as ever. “How has everything been so far?”

“Nothing of note has happened yet, but I did want to speak with the Inquisitor for a moment before we get started,” She began. “Although, first, I love you Josie but, these outfits, really?”

“Oh now you’re complaining!” Josephine responded, dropping her calm voice in favour of one which was far more exasperated.  
“It clashes with my hair!” Leliana said.

“See that’s what I said,” Amélie responded.

“Oh well you can do it yourselves next time!” Josephine replied curtly, before walking off into the crowds of people who had gathered to take a glance at the Inquisitor. She could hear them whispering a marcher, Ostwick, a mage, and, suddenly, she felt trapped in this flurry of colour, the constant chatter of the most powerful men and women of Thedas. She felt as if all eyes were on her, as if she were a showpiece in a stage show, dressed up for public viewing to appease the curiosity of her betters. She was under the gaze of Orlais, in the heart of their power, and it was terrifying.

“Inquisitor?”

“Oh yes,” She responded, snapping out of her daydream.

“I have some information about one of Celene’s advisers-”

“Lady Inquisitor!” Another voice interrupted Leliana’s, a male voice with an accent that sounded like someone was singing, albeit not a very interesting song but, nonetheless, she found it to be beautiful, remembering the way her mother’s Orlesian family used to talk to her in a similar way, in a time where everything was just a little bit similar. Then she saw the mask, the one she saw outside the palace, the mask of Gaspard de Chalons.

“Monsieur Gaspard,” She acknowledged his presence as Leliana sank away, albeit irritated that she could not hear her advisers information but, nonetheless, pretending to be delighted at his presence. How could she be delighted when she was presenting herself to Orlais on the arm of someone she hardly knew, and who may be a suspect in the assassination attempt. Still, he had gotten her here, and she may learn something in the hopefully short time she would spend in his presence, although she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was wrong, so wrong, and that she’d much rather be on the arm of someone else.

“My lady, shall we enter the ballroom?”

“Of course, monsieur,” She said with a smile before taking a deep breath and making her way slowly through the crowds of onlookers, past Orlesian guards, and through the doors leading to the Grand Ballroom.


	2. The Briefest of Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation begins, but the atmosphere of the palace plays with the Inquisitor's mind and making her drop her guard.

She was enjoying herself far too much. Drunk on the atmosphere of frivolity, Amélie found herself walking through the Winter Palace with a spring in her step and a smile on her face, dancing her way through clusters of chattering nobles as she spoke to her people in turn before plunging head first into the task at hand. She knew she was here on business, and serious business at that, but she couldn’t help getting caught up in the atmosphere of it all; soaking up Leliana’s court gossip like a street cat soaks up the midday sun, laughing at Cassandra’s disdain for, well, everything, chattering away to Josephine’s adorable sister. For a moment, she forgot she was the Inquisitor, forgot that she was here to work, and forgot that she was meant to be polite, and refrain from embarrassing situations. That is, until the Commander responded to her light hearted suggestion to dance with a flustered:

“No,”

Well, that was the shortened version, at least. She didn’t hear the rest, only having seconds to muster up a quick response which absolved her of any embarrassment.

“Oh well, your loss,” 

And then she winked, in the middle of the Winter Palace, after Josephine specifically told her to be on her best behaviour. That was two rules broken already then, that and the ‘don’t blush or you’ll look ridiculous’ rule, and she hadn’t even started investigating. Still, it threw him, and she could laugh at his expression for days, that’s if she hadn’t put him off of her entirely after tonight and, well, that encounter was somewhat of a knock to her self esteem.

She’d moved swiftly on from the ballroom to begin her investigation after that, focusing in on the task at hand as she scanned dimly lit rooms for clues, listened to the idle chatter of nobles with such pressing issues as chandelier maintenance, and asked questions of people who looked somewhat important, or staff who others would mark as very much not important. She hadn’t learnt much, but she had a lead, she just had to make her way out into the garden and find that other way into the library.

The garden was dark, but many people had gathered here to catch the air, escaping the oppressive atmosphere of the Winter Palace’s many corridors. A minstrel sang in the beautiful but unusual language of Orlais, and Amélie stopped in a dark corner on what she thought was the edge of the garden to take in the words, words from a language she’d been force fed as a child, and had resurfaced to provide some use in her new role as Inquisitor. Suddenly, for the first time she could remember, she was thankful that her mother had drilled the language into them from such a young age. It made her smile to remember her and her brother sitting there in that old, dusty, library, reciting words in a foreign tongue and laughing at each other’s pronunciation when they got something wrong.

“Inquisitor!”

She had only seconds to process the voice calling from the darkness behind her, before being tugged back into the shadows by her arm, her feet stumbling ever so slightly before she was stopped from falling by a strong arm. And then her senses began to adjust; the hint of red from an inquisition jacket, the smell of dusty old books intermingled with the smell of sweat, horse, and old, worn out armour. Not exactly a pleasant smell, but a familiar one.

“Cullen?” She asked into the darkness. “I know we’re meant to be investigating undercover and all that but do you really have to be so dramatic?”

“Sorry,” He said quickly, before adding. “I just wanted to catch you alone for a second.”

“Why, what’s-”

She was interrupted by the gentlest of kisses, a soft stroke of his lips against her own, so soft she could barely feel it. But it was enough to send her mind adrift into fantasies of her and Cullen, and all she could say was that it didn’t stop at a simple kiss.

“I’ll come and find you when this is over, if you wish?”

It was hardly a question that needed asking, but, nonetheless, it hang there for a moment between the two of them, who stood, foreheads touching, barely moving except to breathe, lips so close they could almost reach out and find one another as they remained frozen in a moment they both wanted to reclaim, but couldn’t.

“That’s if you can find me,” She said with a smile, before backing away from the man in front of her, and turning back towards the serenity of the palace garden and the gravity of the situation at hand, which was, or should be, of far greater concern to her than the briefest of kisses in the shadows of the palace walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't in my outline but, whatever. Who needs an outline?


	3. Noticed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has become very interested in the Inquisitor, her performance whilst dancing with the Duchess not going unnoticed, whilst all she wants to do is get this over with so she can finally spend some time with Cullen.

“You were noticed.”

Three words, spoken by Vivienne as she crept up behind her, standing behind her right shoulder as Amélie looked out over the ballroom she had just vacated. Three words which were vague, laden with meaning, she presumed. Three words which filled her with dread.

She had been noticed. Noticed doing what, exactly? Noticed sneaking off into dark corners of the palace, the garden, the library? Noticed eavesdropping on servants, nobles, important players in the game? Or, noticed doing something much more unsavoury, like a kiss in the darkest corner of the garden?

Her mind raced with images of that kiss, the one they had allowed themselves to share in the beautiful, moonlit gardens, the quick, brief moment of intimacy which they had seized from this moment in time where everything they did was scrutinised, judged, destined for a higher cause.That was, before it all began to escalate. There were shared looks across the ballroom, the brush of one’s hand against the other as they traversed the crowds, the feeling of his firm hand on her back as he led her to a point of interest, or to an even darker corner of the palace, in some cases.

In those cases, they had shared more than a simple kiss. In those cases, they had descended down a slippery slope towards uncharted waters, with each encounter driving them to want more from each other. Kisses stopped being gentle, and became fierce, passionate, moving away from the lips and across cheeks, or down to their necks, their collarbones, probing beneath the high collar of the red coats into unexplored territory. 

There was something about tonight, something about the palace, which drove them mad. The atmosphere, so laden with electricity, took a toll on them, driving them towards each other more and more, until her mind at least existed in an almost constant state of ecstasy, obscuring her thoughts until she could escape to the garden once more and breathe. But they kept being drawn together, and they kept wanting more. Soon their kisses became accompanied by roaming hands, searching for something, anything, to grip onto, the muscles on their thighs, the curve of a waist, the smooth skin as their hands dropped below the waistline ever so slightly, exploring the new sensation of skin touching skin. 

You were noticed.All this went through her mind in the seconds after she heard those words, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt the blood rise to her cheeks, her face no doubt a humiliating shade of red. She breathed in, closing her eyes, and breathed out again, relaxing her posture, and turning around to face her fate.

“Sorry,” She said, trying to smile. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You, on the dancefloor.” Vivienne said abruptly.

Thank the Maker, she thought, resisting the urge to let out a sigh of relief and trying desperately hard to maintain her posture after all those thought of desire, seduction, passion, had raced across her consciousness.

“You mean with the Duchess?” She asked.

“Yes dear!” She replied. “Everyone is talking about you, you’ve completely stolen the show!”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I should think so, wouldn’t you?” 

“Well that all depends on who ‘noticed’ me,” She replied, imitating Vivienne’s use of the term.

“Well I know of a few of them and the ones I do know are nice and rich so that’s something,” She said eagerly. “Although I’m not sure who that one is,” 

She followed Vivienne’s pointing finger, her gaze falling on the babble of people who surrounded Cullen across the ballroom. His following seemed to have grown since the last time she had been over, Maker, she couldn’t even see him anymore, although that was probably a good thing.

“Which one?” She asked.

“The one in the blue outfit, with the red hair,” She answered. “Slightly darker red than yours, though.”

“Lucky him,” She responded. “Why, what’s he been doing?”

“Asking about you,” She replied. “He came right up to me and asked for you, by name. I saw that he’d been to Josephine and Leliana too, I’m presuming Cullen is his next port of call, if he can get through the crowd.”

“Alright, I’ll go and take a look.” She said with a sigh. 

“Stay safe, Inquisitor,”

“Thank you, Vivienne,” She said, before marching over to other side of the room, weaving her way through crowds of onlookers, some of whom audibly gasped as she waltzed past them, gasps which made it impossible to approach her stalker without him knowing about 5 seconds in advance. As the crowds parted, she stood face to face with the man, who had managed to ease his way to the front of the crowd and now stood almost on top of Cullen, who looked as if he was about 30 seconds away from jumping out of the window behind him. 

“Can I help you, monsieur?”

“Ah,” He cried. “You must be the Inquisitor!” As he talked, the large moustache in a dashing shade of red distracted her gaze, and very nearly made her laugh. Instead, she braced herself for the possibility of being killed by a man with an absurd moustache right in front of the man she had been making out with earlier. Life certainly was interesting.

“And I understand you’ve taken quite the interest in me,” She said. “May I ask why?”

“Well, you may,” He said with a sigh. “But I’d have to end my little chat with your Commander here, shame, it was just getting good.”

“Oh thank the Maker,” She heard Cullen mutter, as he edged his way closer to her, something which she didn’t really need right now. 

“Well, shall we?”

“Yes, I think we shall.” He replied, gesturing for her to follow him, his arm extended towards a door leading to a balcony. A nice, secluded place where no one else could join them, what a lovely place to maybe be killed. 

“Cullen,” She whispered.

“Yes, Inquisitor?”

“Get Leliana, tell her to wait outside the doors in case anything happens.”

“Of course.”

Before he left, Amélie felt him catch one of her fingers in his, just for a second, giving it a quick squeeze for good luck, perhaps, as he turned and walked towards the corner that Leliana had claimed. As she watched him move further away from her, she decided that no, today would not be the day she was killed. Not before she told Cullen exactly what she felt about him, what she wanted from him, everything that had gone through her mind during those illicit encounters they had shared this night, the giddiness as he kissed her lips, her neck, the skin beneath her ear, the desire she had felt as his hands caressed her body, her hair, her waist, her inner thigh.

No, she would not die tonight, she decided. And so she followed the man through the doors and out into the moonlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so self indulgent, I just really wanted to explore the buzz of atmosphere at the Winter Palace, and how it could drive these two to want to be together, whilst also moving the plot forward because trust me there is one lol.


	4. A Love Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exposition chapter with some Cullen/Inquisitor fluff at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang around with the exposition because it gets pretty fluffy at the end lol.

“What do you want?” A simple question, she thought, posed to the man she shared an empty room of the Winter Palace with, a room which was darkened by a shortage of candles, and which was accented by the muffle of music and laughter from the ballroom. 

“I wanted to meet the famous Inquisitor who shocked the Orlesian ball with her perfectly performed waltz,” He answered.

“Oh for Maker’s sake, Lionel,” She replied. “Do you have to be so dramatic?”

“What?” He asked, sounding rather offended. “How did you know it was me?”

“Well apart from the fact that you’re my brother and I’ve counted about three ginger’s in this ballroom, one of them being Leliana and the other being me,” She replied, agitation working its way into her words. Yes, she wanted to see her family again and yes, she was happy to see him, of course, but Maker, not now. Not when she had to stop Orlais from crumbling beneath their feet. Still, she couldn’t help but be amused by his attempt at dramatism. “You’re wearing the Trevelyan crest.”

“Oh yea,” He replied. 

“So what do you want?” She asked with a curt voice, eager to escape this awkward and very much unwanted family reunion.

“I wanted to see my sister,” He responded. “I didn’t expect her to be so damn rude about it.”

“Well you did drag me into a dark room in the middle of a masquerade ball which is, in fact, masquerading an assassin, by the way, which I'm meant to be stopping.”

“An assassin?” He asked. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious,” 

“Huh,” He murmured. “So that’s what you do now, is it?”

“Sometimes, yea,”

“That’s impressive,” He said. “My little sister, saving the world, one ball at a time!”

“I haven’t saved the world yet,” She responded. “And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here, nor why I found you flirting with one of my colleagues?”

“Ah yes,” He began, although she could sense some awkwardness in his voice. “Mother wanted to come and see you herself, but I told her not to, I felt like that would’ve been a bit...much, after 20 years your mother fussing and fidgeting and arranging diplomatic marriages isn’t exactly what you’d want. And I wasn’t exactly flirting with him I was just being polite.”

“No well she won’t be arranging any diplomatic marriages just yet, I’ll make sure of that,” She said, unable to hold back her smile anymore, the reality sinking in that her family were within reach of her once again. All she had to do, was reach out. But she found that she couldn’t, it was alien to her, he was alien to her. Her brother, who she had been close to when she was young, was standing right in front of her, and she couldn’t so much as give him a hug. It had been too long, too long facing the inevitable truth that she had ripped from her family forever, too long living with another family, a substitute family of other mages, older and younger, and her uncle, who watched over her in the Circle. She had accepted that she would never see her family again, and yet here was her brother, Lionel with that cheeky boyish smile he always had, and it was too much to process. So much that she couldn’t process it now, not in the middle of such a critical situation. If she gave in now, she may never find the assassin, and Orlais would fall.

“You know I got married,” Lionel said to her, reaching out in the silence that had pervaded the room as she sunk in to her thoughts, her fears. 

“What was that like?” She said, making the effort to smile. 

“Awful,” He answered, his laugh filling the room and echoing off of the walls until she was laughing too, the two laughing at the ridiculousness of their meeting, the unbelievable nature of finding too siblings with such similar countenances in the same ballroom after 20 years of separation, and, speaking for herself, the thought of her brother getting married. She imagined father had to force him down that aisle with a sword at his back.

“Is that why you were flirting with my commander?”

“Oh he’s _your_ commander, is he?” He asked with a playful tone, bridging the gap between them slightly as he prodded at her shoulder with his cheeky grin shining through his awful ginger moustache once again.

“Well, the Inquisition commander,” She replied, although she could feel her cheeks reddening as she faced her own inquisition.

“Yea, right,” He responded with a sarcastic tone. “That’s why you were so prickly when I was speaking to him. Don’t worry, I won’t take him away from you.”

“I’m not worried about that,” She insisted. “It’s a professional relationship.”

“They’re the best kind, playing around at work,” 

“You don’t work!” She exclaimed.

“No I sit around all day looking at finances, and harvest reports from my lands, all while drinking a glass of wine,” He responded. “Preferably at the other end of the house to my wife.”

“It’s that bad?” She asked, marginally worried for her brother’s sanity.

“Well it’s not her, she’s not cruel or anything,” He replied. “I wish she was though, then I’d feel less terrible about preferring men.”

“I knew it!” 

“What?”

“You’re gay.”

“Yea, how did you know?”

“Well apart from when you were flirting with my poor commander..." She said stifling a laugh, which came out as a girlish giggle.

“Oh yea _your_ commander,”

“Oh shut up, he’s not mine,” She said once again.

“Oh yea because he definitely wasn’t checking _you_ out when you came over to us.”

“He was?” 

“Yea, he was,” He said. “Trust me. And I bet he watched you leave too. Was it him that insisted on all of you wearing those hideous outfits with the tight trousers?”

“No actually, it wasn’t,” She informed him. “It was Josephine, my diplomatic advisor.”

“Maybe she’s trying to set you up,”

“At a masquerade ball? With all the wealth of Orlais watching our every move? Maybe at Skyhold, but she’d never risk us getting caught here.”

“Oh Orlesians are at it all the time,” He said, nonchalantly. “I mean we’re, what, a quarter Orlesian, and we’re both pretty liberal about these things.”

“What do you mean by that?” She asked, her cheeks burning as hot as the flames which killed Andraste herself.

“Oh we heard all about you at the Circle,” He informed her. “But I mean, what else are a bunch of young adults going to do in an enclosed environment?”

“Great,” She said. “Now I’m never coming home.”

“Oh don’t be silly,” He said, brushing off her embarrassment as if it were merely an irritating fly hovering around food on a warm summers evening. “Anyway, aren’t you too busy for your poor family.”

“Yea actually I am,” She said with a hint of sadness. “Come on, my long lost brother, let’s get back to the ball.”

“If I may?” He asked, holding out his arm which she grasped firmly, the shock of making contact with someone she once cared about so much almost sending her flying backwards onto the beautifully ordained carpet below their feet. She breathed in, closing her eyes almost as if she could store this moment, this beautiful moment, behind her eyelids forever. But she couldn’t, and she breathed out, opening her eyes and relaxing in his presence for the first time since she had entered the room. As they began to make their way towards the grand doors which welcomed them in to the ballroom, she felt him enclose his hand around hers, moving it off of his arm and instead placing it in to his right hand, where he gripped it so tight that she thought it might fall off. And then she realised, he held on to her as if she were about to slip away from him at any moment, as if, once he let go, she would never come back, like a leaf escaping the hold of its branch and blowing away in a gentle breeze. 

“Come and find me after all this is over,” She told him.

“Of course,” He responded as they entered the dazzling, golden ballroom, re-emerging in to the great game of Orlais. “We could even have a dance, this is a ball after all.”

“Sorry, I’m saving my dance,” She said without even thinking. Cullen had rejected her proposition and yet, as she looked over at him in his crowd of admirers, she couldn’t sell herself out yet, even if it was her brother asking. There was no reason behind it, it was mere hope that maybe he would change his mind, a hope which persisted even as the night wore on and she saw him grow more tired with each passing noble who bothered him.

“Of course,” He answered, dragging her out of her daze. “I’m rooting for you two, by the way.”

And with that, he broke free of her hand and sauntered off in to the crowd. Her life was a haze of emotions she couldn’t pinpoint, a miasma of confusion which threatened to pull her off course, threatened to eat away at her as she carried on her duties. But it had just gotten more complex, the details of her life even more obscured, as he brother, with the promise of family and love entering her life once again, a promise she had lost so long ago under the thumb of the templars. Did she even have the energy to love so many people at once? The Circle family she had lost. Her brother. Cullen.

Cullen.

She loved Cullen.


	5. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen takes a moment away from the ball as he waits for the Inquisitor to return from her mission to find the final piece of the puzzle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter switches to Cullen's point of view, but this is just a one off before we get back in to the main event. I just felt like writing him for a bit, no other reason for this chapter apart from the fact that I really enjoy writing about him.

Smile. Smile and keep your head down. That’s what he had been told to do, all while keeping an eye out for strange activity, anything that might be labelled as suspicious.

So, smile, keep your head down, keep an eye out. It was really, _really_ , tough. Especially because everyone here was strange, and everything was suspicious to him.

He could see them all whispering and exchanging looks, the gaze of their eyes not obscured but, rather, heightened, he thought by the elaborate masks which adorned their faces. He couldn’t stop looking at them all, painted, extravagant, glittering and shimmering in the golden ballroom. It made him twitch with anxiety, sweat had gathered on his brow, he could see it as he looked at himself in the ornate, golden framed mirror which adorned the bathroom wall. And he could see too the way his face had taken on an unhealthy pallor, accentuated by the bright red coat he had been forced to wear. _Damn it, Josephine._

His hands dived in to the cold water which filled the basin, the icy plunge alone causing him to jump, let alone the shock as the full impact of the water hit his face, wiping away the sweat and, hopefully, all traces of the anxiety which had taken over him. Instead, he just looked sopping wet. _Great._

A quick wipe of a towel on his face soon fixed this but his hair, well the fronts of it anyway, were dripping with water. Thankfully, the back was untouched, he really, really, didn’t want to wash out all the damn products he had to put in there every morning. Maker that would be embarrassing.

Still, with his face clear of sweat, and with the pleasant feeling of cold water upon his skin, he calmed, somewhat. He could breathe in here, away from the crowds and the noise, away from people flirting and teasing, away from the reality that the Inquisitor had gone to investigate a while ago now and yet, she hadn’t returned. The ball was almost over, according to Josephine, and yet, she wasn’t here.

Maker he wished he hadn’t been so curt to her earlier. He hadn’t meant to, of course, he just...panicked. All those people around them, all the ones who had approached him before, he thought it was just another joke, another jest by a teasing courtier as he stood there helpless, a fox at the end of a hunt. He had never meant to sound rude when he brushed her off, he just, well, he felt backed in to a corner. Smile. Keep your head down. That’s what he’d been told, basically, don’t go promising a dance with the woman who’s meant to be your boss.

But then he had kissed her afterwards, lots of times, he would add. Surely that would make up for it, surely she hadn’t gone in to whatever trouble she had landed herself in not knowing how much he cared for her. How much he wanted her. How much he loved her.

But _Maker_ , he never told her he loved her. Again, he didn’t want to do it in front of the entire Orlesian court, but there were all those chances, those missed opportunities where they’d fumbled together in dark corners, kissing, teasing, hands roaming over each other, craving the feeling of the other’s body under their palms.   
He should get out of here. He’d been here too long, hiding from the world. But then she'd been gone too long, _far_ too long, what if she never knew? He breathed as he stared at himself in the ornate, gilded mirror in front of him, his brown eyes looking in to the brown eyes of his reflection, urging him to face whatever fresh horrors this night of obscenity could bring. And he did.

He almost marched out of the bathroom, walking through crowds of people who barely parted as he approached, worming his way towards his place, his spot he had claimed which stood just down from where the Inquisitor might appear, and he waited, keeping his head down, literally, forcing himself not to desperately look out for the red hair and confident gait of the Inquisitor and the trouble she always brought with her.

“Any trouble?”

He jumped, only to find trouble herself standing next to him, breathless, adrenaline fueled, and, he noticed, with a torn coat. Maker he was glad she was back, glad she had returned in one piece. But the tear bothered him, although it was more that he didn’t know what was under there, how deep she had been cut, if she was bleeding. Maker he really needed to stop worrying himself. 

“Not here, what about you?” He asked.

“Oh well yea, you could say that,” She responded, looking down at the tear in the fabric which sat just above her right elbow. “Oh shit.”

“What happened?”

“Oh don’t even go there,” She answered. “I’ll tell you later I need to finish this nasty business with the Empress.”

And she did, sauntering off to face the Duchess and save all of Orlais from political anarchy, her voice ringing loud and clear in the silent ballroom, with all the nobility of Orlais and beyond watching her from all orifices. It amazed him how much power she could command, how she could own a room simply by being in it. Sometimes he thought it was just him that felt that, biased by his attraction to her, and his inability to stop himself from watching her. But then the world threatened to collapse and she owned the moment as if she were born to fix all the problems in the world.

It amazed him. _She_ amazed him.

He didn’t have to tell himself to smile when she was there.


	6. A Player in the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the Inquisitor's POV and back a tiny bit in time, so that it runs concurrently with the last chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I suddenly got so tired when writing this about 100 words before the end so like sorry haha

She was tired, sore, her body aching from the strain of fighting off the plethora of demons which had emerged from the fade rift, rippling and green in the sky above them. She was battered and bruised, beaten and broken, but she was _alive_.

She was the Inquisitor, tears in the veil and demons from the fade were her speciality, and they fell like flies as her and her party fought on in the eerie green glow of the fade. The Duchess had hoped that they would fall at the hands of mere demons, but the Inquisition had been built for this very purpose, to rid the world of chaos one fade rift at a time, not to stand around in close fitting outfits smiling at nobles. 

The last demon fell only inches away from her face, its contorted limbs writhing as it fell to the ground at her feet, before she saw its energy relinquish back in to the green abyss which lay beyond the rift. As she stood there, adrenaline coursing through her veins, her left hand emitted a bright, green pulse of light, a reminder of who she was and what she had to do. And, by now, she had mastered the rifts, had mastered the alien object in her hand even as it rebelled against her, raising it above her head and towards the centre of the rift, which fought against her will for some seconds, before closing in an instant, leaving them in darkness.

“Good job, ladies,” She said with a smile, turning to her companions who were finally, by the looks of things, beginning to enjoy themselves. This was their element, after all, not prancing around a ballroom in silly outfits. 

“Well it would’ve been better had Sera stopped being so petty,” Vivienne said curtly.

“Oh shut it!” Sera responded, sticking her middle finger up at Vivienne who, she could tell, was seconds away from losing the plot.

“Come on girls,” She said to them with a sigh. “You can kill each other when we’ve saved the world. Now, we need to find one of Leliana’s agents and get back in to those daft outfits.”

“Eurgh,” Moaned Cassandra. “Do we have to?”

“Yes we do,” She replied. “Unfortunately.”

Moans of disgust came from the whole party as they began to move out of the courtyard and back through the dimly lit corridors of the palace, soon finding themselves back in familiar territory and back in to the dark corner that one of Leliana’s people, a slight elven woman, had set herself up, with all their outfits very lovingly thrown in to a bundle underneath an ornate chair. It wasn’t exactly ideal, stripping in the middle of the Winter Palace, the centre of the Orlesian Empire, but they were desperate and, apparently, walking in to a ballroom in a full set of armour would be frowned upon. The problem was, it left you vulnerable.

The red coat had barely touched her skin, the fastenings still undone, when an arrow came flying out of nowhere, grazing her skin just above her right elbow and landing with a clang on the marble floor behind her. 

“Over there!” She heard Cassandra shout but, in her confusion, she stood in shock, unmoving, instead staring at the arrow as it lay on the floor taunting her, reminding her of her mortality, her fragility. The Inquisitor could face demons and fade rifts, but she could just as easily fall victim to a single arrow loosed at the right time. The crackle of ice magic brought her back in to reality, as Vivienne froze the assailant in place, before Sera launched an arrow right at their head, bringing them down with a scream and a thud.

“See, that’s what happens when you work together,” She said with a nervous laugh, before returning to her fastenings with a now shaking hand. “Anyway, you get back to your posts, it’s time I faced the Duchess.”

She smiled at their worried looks, but she couldn’t help but think that, Maker, she was lucky, really lucky. Not just that she had escaped everything that had happened since the Conclave with only a cut on her arm, but also that she had people who followed her in to every hell hole in Thedas, even to the Winter Palace itself, the heart of the Orlesian Empire and the epicentre of scandal and betrayal. Here, the Inquisition was next to nothing, another player in the game amongst all the hundreds of noble families and organisations which had been playing for far longer than they. And yet when she asked, they followed. She was lucky.

She found Cullen near the entrance to the ballroom, eagerly awaiting her return, she hoped, although she would think so considering how he had acted all evening. Sneaking around in the dark, bumping in to her in disused corridors and dark corners, teasing her and kissing her until they could take it no longer. It was dangerous, scandalous, to act in such a way under the nose of the Empress, but they almost couldn’t help it. She was lucky even then that no one had caught them.

“Any trouble?” She asked him as he stared out at the ballroom. She could see him jump at the sound of her voice, and it even made her laugh just a little as she saw his face turn a deep shade of red.

“Not here,” He answered after some time. “What about you?”

“Oh well yea, you could say that,” She said with a smile, before following his gaze towards her right arm, and the pretty impressive gash that had been made in her coat. Josie was going to kill her. “Oh shit.” 

“What happened?” He asked, his voice laden with concern. 

“Oh don’t even go there,” She answered flippantly. “I’ll tell you later, I need to finish this nasty business with the Empress, first.” 

She smiled at him, wishing she could stay and talk to him for longer, wishing she could hug him and tell him everything, but she knew she had work to do, and that with all those delays, if she didn’t act soon, things were going to spiral out of control. And so, as her smile faded, she turned her back on the man she had recently discovered that she loved, and walked off to meet her fate in the confrontation which would not only hold together the Empire, but also secure her place as the most fascinating spectacle of the evening. 

Because that’s who the Inquisitor was now, a demon slayer, a master of rifts, and a player in the great game of Orlais.


	7. The Balcony Overlooking the Gardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Duchess and her schemes have been stopped, and the Inquisition is victorious. Instead of joining the crowds of revellers who fill the ballroom of the Winter Palace, the Inquisitor and Cullen choose to spend some time alone on a balcony above the palace gardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yea so this is likely going to be the penultimate chapter because, you know, this is the end of the mission. Although, surprisingly, i think this is the longest, so there's that. I'm just stunned that you've all stuck with this for so long, so thanks so much <3

It should’ve been enticing, the warm glow which emanated from the ballroom doors, the noise, the laughter, the people who cheered for her, for her victory. But it wasn’t, not in the slightest.

The balcony was cold, a bitter wind blew across the gardens and almost chilled her to the bone whilst she stood out here alone, escaping the chaos of the ballroom, but she wasn’t alone in the cold anymore, she was in the warm arms of Cullen, staring wistfully at the horrors of Orlesian high society over his shoulder as they danced the dance she never thought would happen.

“Are you alright?” He asked her, stopping suddenly and almost causing her to collide with his shoulder. Shocked, she looked down in embarrassment at having been the first one to mess up the most romantic moment she had had in years. But he refused to allow her to wallow in her shame, his hand, with a gesture as gentle and kind as one a parent might give a small child, brought her face up, so that his eyes met with hers. She could’ve melted in to his touch, the fatigue, mixed with the indescribable feeling of comfort and happiness she felt in his presence, became almost too much for her to bear.

She didn’t even answer him, she didn’t know why, words just failed her. Instead, she looked in to those brown eyes which were always so soft when they looked at her, and she felt all the worries of the evening escape her, lifting from her like a reluctant spirit and floating away on the gentle breeze which rustled the leaves in the gardens below them. It was like looking in to an eternity of happiness when she looked in to those eyes. 

But she didn’t have to look in to them for long, she never did, because every moment of stillness between them, every gaze in to the abyss behind one another’s eyes, ended in a kiss. Sometimes they were gentle kisses, soft and tender. Other times they were less delicate, more forceful, laden with passion and desire. This was one of those times. They had kissed enough this evening, spent enough time exploring the line between what was acceptable in a semi public space and what wasn’t. This was the culmination of everything; the coyness of their public encounters, the suppressed desire behind their secret meetings in the dark, the dreaded thoughts which had plagued her mind all evening that she was the one who had to save Orlais, save the world. But now, she could relax in to the arms of the man she loved.

“Inquisitor!” A sharp voice made them jump backwards, the space between them suddenly feeling uncomfortably large as they stood, in silence, faces as bright as their jackets, like children in the middle of a scolding.

“ _Josephine!_ ” She said, trying desperately hard not to sound angry, or at all guilty.

“I cannot believe that you two are cavorting out here in the middle of a high society Orlesian ball!” She whispered harshly. “What if someone had seen you?”

“Oh come on, Josephine,” She responded. “You knew we were out here, what do you want?”

“I-” She huffed. “Your brother wants to speak to you and, in order to prevent him from walking in on the two of you with your clothes off, I thought I’d come out here and break up the highly exclusive celebration you two have got going on out here. And you, Cullen!”

“What?” He asked quietly, breaking his silence as his bright red face appeared out from behind his hand. She tried desperately hard not to laugh.

“Stay out here until you calm down.” She ordered. “Maker it’s like being back at the université. Come on, Inquisitor, you look passable, at least.”

“Passable, thanks Josephine,” She quipped, before turning to get one last look at the man who she’d shared a brief moment of perfection with as he stood out in the cold, the bright glow of the ballroom falling upon his face and giving her one last look at the features which she adored so much, the mouth which worshipped her skin, the eyes which could melt her heart with one stare. And then she turned away and sighed, returning once more to the harsh realities of her working life.

“Ah, thank you Ambassador!” She heard Lionel’s voice calling to them as they approached, past cheering crowds of drunken revellers. With a quick smile, she left, leaving the two estranged siblings alone as one of them drunk liberally from a glass of red wine, and the other wished with everything she had that she could leave. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important?”

“I was discussing the upcoming siege with my Commander.”

“Oh were you?” He asked, although she could hear the sarcasm in his voice. “You know, I’ve found someone to share a bed with tonight too, he’s the skinny one over by the doors, he hasn’t stop looking at me ever since I slipped him my room number. Good to know that the two of us share a propensity to get caught up in scandalous situations with attractive men, eh?”

“I am not sharing his bed,”

“Not yet, anyway,” He said, raising his eyebrows and taking another generous gulp of wine. 

“Did you come and get me just to make me feel uncomfortable about my love life whilst drinking in front of me?” She asked.

“Oh, love life?”

“Oh shut up,” She sneered. “How drunk are you?”

"Absolutely shitfaced,"

"Great," She said. "What do you want?"

“I wanted to know when you were coming to visit your poor, long lost, family in Ostwick?”

“I’m busy,” She said. “I have a world to save, remember?”

“Well you don’t have to if you’re so busy!” He said. “But you can write to us, at least, just maybe don’t mention...that” 

She followed gaze back towards the door out to the balcony, where a very sheepish Cullen Rutherford has just emerged, and stopped dead as he caught eyes with the two of them. Beside her, she saw her brother give him an exaggerated wave, earning him a quick, sharp elbow to the arm. 

“Maker, Amy,” He yelped. “When did you get so strong?”

“Staves are heavy, you know,” She said with the trace of a laugh. “You’re right I guess, I’ll write home when I get back to Skyhold.”

“Good,” He said. “Mother can get off my back now. But please, if she tries to marry you off to some fat, balding turd, even if he does own half of the Free Marches, don’t let her.”

“I won’t,” She said, smiling at the brother she had forgotten was so much like her, astonished that the similarities they had shared in their youth had transferred even now as they reached the end of their twenties. She couldn’t help herself, she found herself entangled in a hug with him, enduring even the overpowering smell of alcohol because after everything that had happened this evening, she couldn’t care less.

She couldn’t have cared less even if it was the entire court of Orlais who had walked in on her and Cullen out on the balcony. She couldn't have cared less if the court were perturbed by this moment of intimacy she had just shared with her brother. She couldn’t have cared less if they were bothered by her decision to leave the party at such an early time, either. She was tired, she was worn out by all the conversation, all the intrigue, all the exhausting fights with Venatori and the hassle of having to change into armour, out of armour, back in to armour. And she was sick of these damn coats. So sick, in fact, that as soon as she entered the room she had been assigned, she threw the damn thing on the floor where it belonged.

She should’ve slipped straight in to a deep sleep after all the events of this evening, but she didn’t. She lay there, staring up at the canopy above her bed, listening to the laughter and revelry, and wondering where abouts her companions were staying, what they were doing. Had Sera even made it to her room, or was she asleep in a window pane somewhere? Had her brother whisked his lover back to his rooms for a night of passion? Had Cullen escaped the crowds to endure another night alone with his nightmares?

She wished with everything she had that he would, somehow, find his way to her rooms, not even because she particularly fancied making love tonight, but purely because, although she had spent all evening in the company of others, the darkness, the emptiness, was just a little bit too lonely.

One day, she may be able to fall asleep and wake up in a bed shared by the man she loved.

But not tonight.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor returns to Skyhold after an exhausting stint at the Winter Palace.

“The Inquisitor!” Her title, shouted in earnest by the ones who had gathered in the Herald’s Rest upon her arrival at Skyhold, filled the room on a tide of revelry and celebration as she stood surrounded by her travelling companions on a chair at the edge of the room. The attention exhausted her, all those eyes trained upon her once again as the victory was placed upon her shoulders, not the shoulders of Sera, Cassandra, Vivienne, or any of her advisors. No, on her. She readily accepted the drink that Iron Bull offered her, even if it did taste like dragon piss.

“So, Inquisitor,” Dorian began after the revelry had died down, and the small band of friends had sat themselves down once again at their table, cradling their drinks in their hands or throwing them down their necks. “Give us all the juicy details, but leave out the boring bits, please.”

“Her dance with the Duchess was simply amazing!” Josephine announced from the far side of the table. “The whole court was transfixed by her beauty and elegance.”

“Oh piss off,” Sera cried. “The _best_ part was when she strode right up to this guy and kicked him out of a window!”

“Sera’s right,” Cassandra said. “He screamed the whole way down, I’m surprised the whole palace didn’t hear. Although I did like it when one of Cullen’s admirers turned out to be our Inquisitor's handsome older brother.”

“Handsome?” Dorian asked. “What does he look like?”

“He’s got red hair like mine,” She began, before being interrupted by Iron Bull's cheers, as disturbing an image as that may be. “But his facial hair is _horrendous_.”

She heard both Dorian and Iron Bull heave a disappointed sigh, before the two of them, almost in sync with one another, drank from their tankards. It always made her laugh how the two mingled together, even despite the tension which rested solely on prejudices introduced from such a young age. Still, if a Tevinter and a Qunari could find common ground, then there was hope for us all.

“Cullen wasn’t keen to drop his pants for your brother then?” Iron Bull asked after wiping the foam of his ale from his chin.

“No well he can’t sleep with her and her brother,” Dorian answered for her.

“I’m not sleeping with him, guys.”

“Yea, right,” Josephine piped up from her corner. “You were getting pretty close when I stumbled in on you out on the balcony.”

Cheers, and a wolf whistle from Iron Bull, erupted from their table, followed by an explosion of laughter which, without her meaning to, included herself. She could feel her face burning with embarrassment, clashing with her hair in a violent display of red. 

“You shouldn’t take the piss out of people when they’re not here to defend themselves,” She said, trying to look serious and inquisitorial, but instead looking like a young, red faced, little girl with a silly crush that she just could not deny.

“Yea,” Sera said, to her surprise. “Dick move, guys. Dick. Move.” 

Everyone looked at her in confusion, a few seconds of silence descending on the table, before she erupted in a fit of laughter as her face slowly sank towards the table, where it lay for the rest of their time in the tavern.

“Where is he, anyway?” Dorian asked. “I thought he would join us.”

“He said he had work to do,” Josephine replied. 

She knew exactly what ‘work’ meant. It meant, well, doing work, if there was any to do. But she knew well enough that there wasn’t. They’d gotten back from the palace today, the Siege of Adamant didn’t need to be planned _now_. So she knew exactly what ‘work’ was, it was escaping. Whether that be from exhaustion, migraines, or something else, she couldn’t blame him. 

Still, she knew that he didn’t want to be disturbed, and she knew that she could get another drink in before she started to feel the effects of it. And she knew that everyone here would love her if she brought them all another drink. And so she found herself staying for another hour, or two.

But she tired of it eventually. She loved to see everyone again after so long away, and she loved sharing her stories of the palace. But, it had been days of travelling, and she never slept well on the road. For some reason, the open sky and the cold, night air, were not comforting to her at all. Staying locked up in a tower for 20 years of your life could really have an effect on you, apparently. At least it was warm in there.

She found herself waiting to excuse herself for some time, sitting in the midst of chatter and laughter with a feeling that was almost empty. She felt lost amongst the noise, the world around her simply existing as she remained still. She had no idea how long she sat like that but, eventually, Josephine reminded her that dinner was in an hour, and, trying not to sound relieved, she excused herself on the pretense that dinner required a certain amount of preparing oneself.

In fact, she never actually showed up for dinner. Instead, a kind servant delivered it to her rooms because, in all honesty, she could not be bothered. She had spent too long in the company of others, and now she was in her room, alone, eating the more traditional food which they prepared at Skyhold, a pleasant homecoming treat after gouging on the rich and, sometimes unpleasant, foods they served in the Winter Palace. The silence in her room was pleasant, the cool breeze drifting in through the window was calming. She understood why the Commander wanted to be alone.

And yet, as she finished her dinner and sat on the corner of her bed, she still felt like she wasn't satisfied. Staring at the red coat which she had discarded as soon as she had crossed the threshold of her room, she felt it taunting her, reminding her of the palace, the chattering nobles, the wines, the fruits, the cheeses. Conversations laden with threat, sneaking through darkened corridors, sneaking in to the arms of Cullen.

Despite hating the coat with an undeniable passion, she couldn’t bring herself to discard it entirely. In fact, upon bringing the garment up to her face, she could smell not only the horrid smells of the palace, the sweat, the food, the alcohol, she could smell _him_. And the thought of a part of him being on her clothes, and the thought of _how_ it had got there, well, it was enough to make her throw the coat back onto the bed and storm out of her room.

She walked at a pace she hoped no one would try to match. She had learnt that if she scowled, and walked as if the world depended upon her speed, no one would bother her. And no one did. She walked across the hall, through Solas’ favourite chamber, which was for some reason empty, and along the battlements to the Commander’s office, without anyone even trying to solicit her.

All this determination, all this drive, to reach the man she realised not long ago that she loved more than anyone she had loved before, threatened to vanish as she stood outside of his office door in the waning light of the sun. What was she thinking? They would know. Everyone would know. She was the Inquisitor, she just won the hearts of the Orlesian court and now, was she was really going to throw away their admiration, admiration which cemented the alliance between her and Orlais, by sleeping with her Commander?

Yes, yes she was.

She knocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I actually made it to the end? And if you're reading this then you did too, which is pretty incredible. I know some of you might be bummed out that I ended before the iconic desk scene but I have written about it before and it would be so silly to write exactly the same thing again.
> 
> Still, it's amazing that you all got here, and you're amazing for actually reading this, so thank you everyone for all the support. And look out for the follow up which I'll be starting soon.


End file.
